The Man Within repost
by Lady Osolone
Summary: Hermione begins the discover the man underneath the coldness. And she likes what she sees. *Chapter 2*
1. Default Chapter

Title: The Man Within 1/?  
Pairing: HG/SS  
Rating: PG13 for now - becoming R or NC17 in later chapters  
Author: Lady Osolone  
Disclaimer: These characters all belong to J. K. Rowling - I'm just playing with them because I'm bored and I promise to put them back when I've finished.   
Category: Romance/Angst  
Archiving: Just ask!  
Summary: Hermione makes some discoveries  
Notes: My first Harry Potter fanfic!!! I'm British so will be using Brit-slang throughout. I'll try to clarify what I can for US readers in each chapter. For this one "fringe" = "bangs", "pinched = "stolen" , "Sheffield Thursday" is a rather lame joke on the name of the football (soccer) team, "Sheffield Wednesday". Thanks to Dace for the Beta!!!  
  
* * *   
  
"Look out boys, here he comes!"  
  
Ron hastily flicked a piece of Chocolate Frog off his exercise book with his fingernail, aiming it for Draco Malfoy's head. He sat up straight, grasping his quill and put on his soberest face for a double lesson with Hogwarts' sardonic Potions Master, Professor Snape. The Professor had just swept into the classroom in a cloud of voluminous black robes and bad-humour.  
  
"I am in no mood to be trifled with today!" snapped Snape as he stepped gracefully up to his large dark-oak desk. He esconced himself in his high seat and steepled his fingers on the desk in front of him.   
  
Fixing the class with his blackest of black looks he continued. "This class has exactly . . " (Snape consulted a small calender on the desk, glaring at the item as though it was something particularly nasty), "three months until it will be sitting its N.E.W.T.s, and I pity the unfortunate examiner who has the job of marking the resulting poor scripts. We still have a large portion of the syllabus to be covered if any of you, even the more able," he cast a quick glance at Malfoy, who smiled back sickeningly, "hope to achieve even a passable grade in your examination. So I suggest you all take out your textbooks and turn to page 140. Today we will be preparing a elementary Memorandum serum - a powerful aide to memory which is one of the basic components of . . . "  
  
Harry tuned out Snape's voice as he usually did in Potions class, and concentrated on the text in front of him. Ron began idly picking his nose. Neville was furiously scribbling down everything that Professor Snape said, whether he understood it or not, in an attempt to get through one Potions class without any horrendous mistakes.  
  
Only the Head Girl, Hermione Granger, was concentrating as usual. She sat beside Ron and Harry, listening intently to Snape's words, occasionally making notes in her exercise book or checking the page in the open text book before her.   
  
She could not say that Potions was her favourite lesson. Snape had seen to it that his lessons were rarely more than a trial for most of the students. Yet her academic mind found much enjoyment in the complex procedures of preparing ingredients for potions. Now that they were in their final year at Hogwarts, the work they had been undertaking was much more interesting - close to Professional Wizarding standards. It gave Hermione of sense of great satisfaction.  
  
The class collected the ingredients for their potions and began preparing them. Neville occasionally glanced up at Hermione, seeking her approval that what he was doing was correct and she either nodded or corrected him by pointing to the part of the text book he should be following. She had long ago stopped trying to offer him practical help, which usually resulted in ten house points apiece being taken from Gryffindor and a detention for the two of them. Besides, she reasoned, Neville would be alone when he sat his Potions N.E.W.T. He had to manage on his own one day.  
  
Today, however, the Professor's attention seemed to be directed elsewhere. Instead of moving around the classroom to observe, making the pupils' hands tremble with nerves and more likely to make mistakes upon which he could pounce with sarcasm and detentions, he sat at his desk, hands folded in front of him, staring, it seemed, into space. A few pupils had already noticed this, and were taking advantage of the fact to whisper among themselves and pass a copy of "Which Broom?" under the tables. Hermione shrugged and continued with her work. Passing her N.E.W.T.s with 'A's was too important to her to waste a moment of time in these last few months.  
  
When the bell rang for the end of class, it took everyone by surprise even the Professor, who started and came back to himself quickly. He hadn't even tested any of the potions, which was a relief to many of the students who hadn't got beyond chopping up their lacewings. Instead he drew himself up, gathered his robes around him and glared at the class.  
  
"This potion is a complex preparation", he announced haughtily, "which will take more than one class to finish. I therefore suggest you all bottle the ingredients that you have prepared so far and bring it to the next class, when we shall complete it. And I warn anyone who fails to bring their potion that they will be serving detention with me for a month. Class dismissed!"  
  
The class immediately scrambled to quickly bottle up the contents of their cauldrons and get out of the dungeon in time for their next lesson. Hermione, however, had already finished her potion. She saw little point in bottling it. With a sigh, she made her way over to Snape's desk.  
  
"Er, Professor . . ." she began, hestitantly. He had that far-away look in his eyes once more.  
  
"What?" he came back to himself with a start.  
  
"Erm . . . I have already finished my potion - I was wondering if you would like to test it now . . ." Hermione secretly hoped he wouldn't - it would allow her another week to test it herself and correct anything that was wrong.  
Snape looked at her for a moment as if he didn't know who she was - or where *he* was. Hermione was startled to see his face, stripped of its dark humour and malice. He looked almost . . . human.  
  
"Er, no, I'm sure that will not be necessary, Miss Granger". Even his voice was softer, stripped of its hard edge. He passed a weary hand over his brow. "I'm sure your work is up to its usual high standard. Just bring it to the next lesson along with everyone else."  
  
"Yes, Sir." Hermione, feeling stunned, returned to her desk to bottle up her potion. Meanwhile, making more noise than usual, the rest of the class made their way out of the room, leaving her and Snape alone.  
  
She cast another few quick glances at him as she bottled the thick, blackish liquid and hastily scrubbed out her cauldron. He was staring into space again, a strange expression on his face. It was almost - if Snape could be capable of it - sadness.  
  
Abruptly, he drew himself together, stood up and swept out of the room, his robes billowing behind him.   
  
As he went, something slipped from his desk and fluttered to the floor.  
  
Hermione shrugged, placed her newly cleaned cauldron on the upper-sixth-form shelf and made her way towards the door. She would be late for Charms now. Damn Snape! He always did something to mess up her day!  
  
Her attention was drawn to a small, rectangular piece of paper lying on the floor near to the Professor's desk. Being inherently tidy, Hermione always felt compelled to pick up after her fellow students. She bent down to retrieve it, and frowned in surprise when she turned the paper over.  
  
It was a photograph. Not new, but not old either. And not a moving Wizard-photograph, but a regular Muggle-one, of the type Hermione was used to taking with her family. A photograph of a little girl.   
  
She looked around 4 or 5 years old, and very pretty. Straight, glossy black hair was cut into a neat little page-boy bob, which framed her pale, heartshaped face perfectly. Large dark eyes sparkling with laughter peered from beneath her fringe. Her small mouth was split into a heartwarming, gap-toothed grin and she clutched a rather battered looking teddy bear. Hermione found herself smiling back at the picture. What a little sweetheart! But who on earth did this photo belong to?  
  
Hermione glanced around the room. Could one of the students have dropped it when they made their hasty retreat? Then she remembered the object that had slipped from Snape's desk as he swept out. A feeling of cold dread came over her at the idea of holding in her hand an item of Snape's property, and what he would do if he found out. He would probably accuse her of stealing it for a prank and put her in detention for the rest of her time at Hogwarts. She quickly slipped it back onto his desk  
  
As she made to leave the room, she hesitated. This was obviously a personal item - a family picture or something of the sort - although the idea of Snape having a family or anything as humanising as a photograph of a sweet little niece seemed strange. She felt uneasy about leaving it on the desk where it could be pinched by mischief-making students or lost again. Maybe she should return it to him in person?  
  
Or maybe not. The thought of walking up to a glowering, sarcastic Snape, handing him this photograph and saying sweetly, "Please Professor, I found this - and I'm sure it belongs to you!" made her stomach turn over. He frightened her at the best of times.  
  
She glanced again at the picture. There was definitely a resemblance there. The little eyes which smiled back at her were dark, as dark as the Professor's, but unlike his they gleamed with happiness and laughter. Very strange.  
  
Hermione glanced at her watch. Damn! Charms class had started 5 minutes ago - and it would take her another 5 minutes to make it up to Professor Flitwick's classroom. She hated to be late!  
  
Stuffing the photograph into the pocket of her robe she broke into a run and decided to sort it out later.  
  
* * *   
  
The rest of the day was so busy that Hermione gave little thought to the picture in her pocket until the evening meal. The school was gathered in the great hall, and the Professors had just entered to take their places at the high table on the dais, when Hermione looked up and saw Professor Snape. She immediately remembered the photograph and slipped a hand into her pocket to make sure it was still there. It was.  
  
The Professor, for his part, seemed to have fully recovered from whatever had been ailing him that morning. He cast a sneering glance in the direction of the Grynffindor table, snatched a Zonko's jolly-joke hat from the head of Justin Finch-Fletchley as he strode past, and over the din in the room Hermione could see his sardonic mouth form the words "ten points deducted . . .". She sighed. Snape didn't look in the mood at all to be approached by a student bearing an item of his personal property.  
  
Hermione hesitated, then nudged Harry in the ribs.  
  
"Ow!" exclaimed Harry, through a mouthful of mashed potato. "Wassat for?!"  
  
Hermione sighed. "Listen" she said, dropping her voice so that no-one else would hear. "Today, after you'd all left the Potions room, Snape dropped something . . ."  
  
"What?" asked Ron cheerfully, as he poured gravy over his lamb chops. "His head, hopefully!"  
  
Harry snorted.  
  
"Or his pants!" suggested Seamus, helpfully. Obviously Hermione's words had not been quiet enough.  
  
"Oh yuk! Seamus, man!" declared Ron with a grimace. "Thanks, I can't eat my bloody chops now! What a thought!"  
  
Harry laughed out loud  
  
"Yeah, imagine that - Snape the flasher - showing off his black leather g-string to the girls . . !"  
  
"Eurgh!" cried Ron and dropped the chop bone he had been chewing on. The rest of the Gryffindor table that was within earshot erupted into laughter and Hermione sighed. She turned back to her plate and helped herself to another spoonful of peas. She should have expected no support from the others where Snape was concerned.  
  
When the laughter had died down a little, and Ron was engaged with Seamus and Neville in a discussion of the Chudley Cannons' upcoming Premiership League match against Sheffield Thursday, Harry gave Hermione a quick nudge.  
  
"So what was it?" he asked, his green eyes still sparkling with laughter.  
  
Hermione looked around to see if anyone else was listening. They weren't.  
  
"A photo" she whispered back.  
  
Harry eyes shone with interest "Yeah?" he asked "What of?"  
  
"I'm not sure." Hermione dug in the pocket of her robe for the photo. "It's a Muggle-photo and it looks like a family picture - niece or something I expect." She showed the photo to Harry under cover of the tablecloth.  
  
"How could a sweet little kid like that belong to Snape's family?" he asked with a snort.  
  
"I don't know" Hermione sighed. "But I'm sure its his and I need to give it back to him. I just don't fancy walking up to Snape with an item of his personal property. He'll have a go at me, for sure."  
  
"Hmmmm". Harry frowned. "Miserable git. Well, maybe give it to Dumbledore then - or McGonagall. Just say you found it in Snape's room. I'm sure they'll know what to do with it."  
  
He frowned. "Why would Snape have a Muggle-photo anyway? He's a top-class Slytherin snob!"  
  
Hermione shooke her head. "I'm not sure either. Oh well - I'll give it to Professor Dumbledore this evening. Let him sort it out. Thanks, Harry."  
  
  
* * * * *   
  
The Head Boy and Girl of the school were given the password to Professor Dumbledore's private office in case they should ever need to contact the Headmaster. As soon as dinner was finished and the Professors had filed out, Hermione rose and made her way upstairs towards Dumbledore's rooms.  
  
She hesitated before the door. She really only had permission to disturb Professor Dumbledore for important matters, for which this hardly seemed to qualify. Still, she trusted him more than any other teacher in the school.  
  
"Lemon Bon-Bon" she said quietly, and the door opened.  
  
Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, with a steaming cup of tea at his elbow, marking a pile of exam parchments. A fire blazed cheerfully in the hearth and Fawkes the Phoenix gave a friendly trill as Hermione entered, the door closing automatically behind her. Dumbledore looked up with a smile.  
  
"Hello Hermione" he asked. "Is everything alright?"  
  
Hermione smiled back. "Oh, yes Professor" she said, hurriedly, not wanting to detain the Headmaster any more than was necessary. "I just came to see you because . . ." she reached into her pocket and drew out the photo.  
  
"I believe this belongs to Professor Snape" she said, handing the picture to Dumbledore. "He . . dropped it in Potions this morning, and I wanted to make sure he got it back . . ."  
  
Professor Dumbledore glanced at the picture. His smile faded slightly.  
  
"Ah . . . yes" he said slowly, never taking his eyes from the picture in front of him. "Yes. . . Severus will be glad to have this back, thank you Hermione." His voice held a tinge of sadness.  
  
He looked up at Hermione. She smiled.  
  
"I thought it might be a family photograph, Sir" she said, nervously.  
  
"Yes". Dumbledore put the photograph down on the desk and fixed Hermione with serious, pale blue eyes.  
  
"It was his daughter".  
  
* * * *   
  
Hermione was amazed. She had never even known that Professor Snape was married, let alone had a daughter.   
  
Her surprise must have shown on her face, for Dumbledore gave a sad smile, and gestured to the armchair in front of his desk. Hermione sat down, expectantly.  
  
The Headmaster gazed at her for a few moments.  
  
"Yes, Severus was once married and had a daughter" he said, with a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth as if he knew how surprises Hermione would be at this information. "His wife was a Muggle-born witch and the Snapes were not terribly pleased about the match - Aristocratic, Pure-Blood Wizarding families being what they are. . . "   
  
He smiled conspiratorially. "However, they were young and in love, and determined - and I don't beleive that Severus ever saw a lot of his family anyway - from what I know of the Snapes they are not the closest or most loving of clans"  
  
Hermione nodded dumbly.   
  
Dumbledore regarded her seriously for a moment. "I would not normally impart personal information like this about a teacher to a student, you understand" he went on. "But you my dear have so very nearly finished your studies here, and you and your friends have seen so much, and been through so much, that I feel I can trust you with this. There is little more to the story anyway, except that there was a tragic accident and Severus' life changed irreparably. His involvement with the Death Eaters stems from this period."  
  
Dumbledore paused again. A sadness had once again descended over kindly face.  
  
"He is cold, my dear" he continued at last, in a soft tone. "He is forbidding. He does not allow anyone to get close to him - I sometimes believe he is afraid to. But he was not always as he is now. And I hope that perhaps this knowledge means that you can perhaps look upon him a little more kindly in your last few months here."  
  
Hermione didn't know what to say. Dumbledore, however, solved the problem by standing up and placing a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"I will make sure he gets the photograph back tommorrow morning" he said, with a smile. "And I'm sure you'll be wanting to get to bed, my dear. Thank you for bringing it to me, you are most thoughtful."  
  
Hermione stood up gratefully. "Thanks Professor," she said warmly. For a moment she wondered if it would be inappropriate to give the Headmaster a daughterly kiss on the cheek for being so sweet. Instead she simply returned his smile, gave Fawkes' brilliant plumage a quick ruffle, and left the room, making her way towards the Gryffindor Common Room, her head in a whirl.  
  
Life never ceased to surprise her.  
  
* * * *  
  
For some reason, Hermione did not feel willing to share the knowledge that Dumbledore had given her with anyone else - not just yet anyway. She knew how many of her friends loathed and mistrusted Snape, as she had for most of her seven years at Hogwarts. He was sarcastic, bad-tempered, snobbish, vindictive and had given none of them any reason to like him. But the truth was that since Dumbledore had told her Snape's story she was beginning to feel sort of . . . sorry for him.  
  
After a double lesson of Transfiguration that morning, she found herself with a free period. Ron and Harry retreated to the Common Room but Hermione decided to go to the library to work on her Dark Arts Essay - it was not due in for three weeks, but she liked always to be prompt. It saved so much rushing around later.   
  
She was making her way down the 3rd floor towards the library, when the strap of her bag, packed as usual with books, suddenly gave way. Books, quills and notepads tumbled everywhere, and Hermione, with a muffled curse, stooped down to pick them up.   
  
Gathering them into a hasty pile in her arms she looked around for her large black Herbology notebook and jumped a mile into the air when it was suddenly thrust towards her by an elegant, well-manicured hand.  
  
"Miss Granger?" said a familiar, deep voice.  
  
Hermione froze, and looked up to find herself face to face with Professor Snape, who was regarding her with an expression of wry amusement in his black eyes.  
  
"Oh Professor, thanks, I . . " she found herself flustered and quickly took the book from him. "It was my bag, it . . "  
  
"Yes, well" Snape folded his arms. "You carry too many books around Miss Granger. Anyway, I merely wanted to thank you - Professor Dumbledore returned to me an item I had lost yesterday and told me that you had, er, been thoughtful enough to hand it in to him. I am most grateful."  
  
His voice, whilst haughty as ever, had lost some of its venom, its hard edge was ever so slightly softened, and this made Hermione feel strange. Indeed, he sounded awkward if anything, perhaps not used to showing gratitude to a Muggle-born Gryffindor student.  
  
"Don't mention it" she said, hastily, feeling the need to get away as soon as she could. "Glad to help, you know."  
  
To Hermione's amazement, Snape gave a snall, slightly sardonic smile. He nodded once in a formal way and turned around abruptly, heading down the corridor away from her.  
  
To her dying day Hermione never knew what caused her to call out after him.  
  
"Oh, Professor?" she called. And as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she cringed inwardly.  
  
Snape turned around, frowning. His old demeanour was back.  
  
Hermione wilted under his dark stare. Oh well. She had three months left. After that she would never have to see him again.  
  
"What - what was your daughter's name?" she heard herself asking.  
  
Snape stared at her in astonishment. For a moment, Hermione expected him to let loose a tirade of fury at her insolence. But then, suddenly, he gave another of those very tiny and oh-so-foreign smiles.  
  
"Selena" he said. And he turned and walked away.  
  
End Chapter 1 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: The Man Within 2/?   
(being an explanation of some of the scarifices Severus Snape has to make in order to keep in the death eaters. Also, Hermione receives an offer she cannot refuse.)  
Author: Lady Osolone  
Rating: R  
Pairing: Eventual SS/HG  
Disclaimer: I made it all up. They belong to JK Rowling and I'm just playing with them .  
Archiving: Just let me know where its going  
Notes: This was partly inspired by the wonderful "Pawn to Queen" (by Riley) where Severus is invited to a Dark Revel at the Malfoy Mansion, although my version is slightly different. Thank you for the inspiration, Riley!  
  
  
The Malfoy Manor House stood on a windy corner of the North West Coast of Wales, a few miles south of the crossing to Anglesey. It had been the seat of the Malfoy family for generations and Lucius Malfoy, the current head of this distinguished clan, found it an adequate base for his family, and for his "operations". It was not that he particularly liked Wales, or the Welsh - he hated both in fact, but it was a remarkably quiet area, the locals subservient and traditional in their approach to the Lord of the Manor. There had been some trouble a few years back, with a rather pathetic group of Muggle Welsh Nationalists who called themselves "Mabion Glyndwr" - they had apparently objected to the presence of an English landowner in the area and had tried to set fire to some of his cattle barns. Lucius and his friends had had great fun with them, although he had never quite managed to remove the dried-on brains from the ceiling of the first floor "guest room".  
  
  
One balmy Spring morning, Lucius was to be found in the spacious and lavishly decorated parlour of his ancestral home, busily scribbling invitations on thick cream parchment, with a golden quill. As each envelope was completed and sealed with the Malfoy crest in silver wax, he dropped it into the green flames sparking in the ornate fireplace, where it vanished with a soft crackling.  
  
  
The door opened, and in swept the lady of the house, Narcissa Malfoy, resplendent in a turquoise silk Japanese kimono, her golden hair twisted tightly into a knot on the back of her head and skewered with two vicious-looking hairpins.  
  
  
She sashayed over to her husband and esconced herself gracefully on the arm of his chair.  
  
  
"Are we nearly ready?" she enquired in a honeyed tone, caressing her back of his neck with long red fingernails.  
  
  
Malfoy looked up at her, his pale pointed face beamingly indulgently.   
  
  
"Of course my sweet". He took her hand and kissed it. "All set! I still have a few 'arrangements' to be made, however. I'll be paying a visit to Borgin and Burkes this afternoon . . ."  
  
Narcissa gasped and clapped her hands in a childish manner.  
  
  
"Ooh, you think of *everything*, poodle!" she cooed, stroking her husband's cheek affectionately. "And you know how long I've been dying to get my hands on those manacles!"  
  
  
Lucius smiled and threw another invitation onto the fire. "Have to make sure this party goes with a bang, funnyface!" he declared, slipping an arm around his wife's slim waist. "Should be one of the biggest we've hosted yet. I'm up to four hundred invitations already and thats without the Kensington Old Boys' Club . . ."  
  
  
Narcissa smiled, seductively.  
  
  
"Of course" she leaned closer to her husband, so that her lips nuzzled his ear. "You'll be sending out a special invitation to someone I'm very much hoping to see, won't you" she murmured.  
  
  
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. Narcissa leaned in closer and whispered in his ear.  
  
  
Her husband frowned and looked at his wife in a mixture of annoyance and surprise.  
  
  
"No!" he declared.  
  
  
"Oh *come on* teddybear, you want me to enjoy myself too, don't you?" Narcissa whined. "Besides, you can't really object - what with you and Diana Diggleswade at the last one. I swear that Mummy's dear Queen Anne table will never be the same!" She gazed at her husband in mock reproach.  
  
  
Malfoy considered for a moment, then gave his wife a rogueish grin.  
  
  
"Very well" he declared - snatching up another envelope. "I was going to invite the miserable swine anyway. At least this way he can be of some use to one of us!"  
  
  
Narcissa smiled and kissed the top of her husband's head. "Thanks pumpkin" she trilled.  
  
Lucius regarded her affectionately. "Who's the best?" he asked.  
  
  
"You're the best!" confirmed Narcissa, blowing him a kiss as she swept out of the room, eager to press on with her own planning.  
  
  
* * * *   
  
  
A few hundred miles away, in a dark but richly furnished room within the magickally proctected walls of Hogwarts, Professor Severus Snape was sitting in a large leather covered chair at the side of his hearth, perusing "the Daily Prophet". At his elbow stood a steaming beaker of something which smelt like coffee, although it was dark green in colour. He took a sip from the beaker, grimaced at the taste and glanced up at the clock.   
  
  
A sudden popping noise in the fireplace caught his attention, and he looked down in time to see a cream coloured envelope shoot forth from the flames and land, smoking, on the rug in front of him. His stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch, and he bent to retrieve it.  
  
  
The evelope was addressed in green ink, in an elegant scrawling copperplate. Snape groaned, turned it over and broke the silver seal.  
  
  
He read:  
  
  
"Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy  
  
  
Request the pleasure of  
  
  
SEVERUS SNAPE's  
  
  
company at a small drinks gathering to celebrate Narcissa's birthday.  
  
  
To be held at Malfoy Towers on  
  
  
Saturday, 21st March  
  
  
at 8pm  
  
  
Formal Dress only please.   
Arrive by Apparation.  
  
RSVP"  
  
  
Snape gave another groan and snatching up the cup of green liquid, took a deep swallow. Stuffing the envelope into the pocket of his robes he swept out of the door, heading towards Professor Dumbledore's office.  
  
  
* * * *   
  
  
Ron threw himself down into an armchair in the Gryffindor Common Room and wiped a hand slowly over his face.  
  
  
"Damn it - that old bugger was in a bad mood today!" he declared, reaching over and helping himself to a handful of Seamus' "Bertie Botts's Every Flavour Beans" (ignoring the shout of protest from their owner). "I really could have done without that extra pile of homework he gave me."  
  
  
He sighed. Hermione looked up from her place at a nearby desk, where she was studying.  
  
  
"Well considering you rarely do any homework, anyway, Ron" she said with a hint of sarcasm, " a little extra isn't going to kill you. Besides, you're never going to pass your exams unless you're prepared to put in a bit of work."  
  
  
Ron stared at her angrily. "What's this? Pick on Ron day?" he asked indignantly. Harry laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.  
  
  
"Come on mate, its just Snape" he said, good naturedly. "You should be used to him by now. He's probably got his kickers in a twist over something and thought he'd have a go at us as he usually does. Besides, if we speak nicely to Hermione she'll do that Potions essay for us" he winked at her,  
  
  
Hermione curled her lip. "You'll be lucky!" she declared.   
  
  
* * * *   
  
  
Elsewhere in the castle, Professor Snape stod uncertainly in front of the Headmaster's desk.  
  
  
"I have no choice, Professor" he was saying, his customary cold and silky voice betraying little of the dread he was feeling, although the pallor of his skin indicated the state of his nerves. "I'm expected. If I do not attend I risk raising Lucius' suspicions. God know I have enough trouble avoiding them with that poisonous son of his following me around like a bloodhound . . ."  
  
  
Dumbledore looked at him gravely.  
  
  
"You know best what is required of you, Severus" he said, at last. "I request only that you are vigillant and do not expose yourself to any danger needlessly. And that you will inform me the minute you arrive back".  
  
  
Snape nodded. "Thank you. Albus" he said, formally. Then he strode out of the room.  
  
  
* * * * *   
  
  
The Malfoy Manor was packed with guests, and the party seemed to be in full swing. Narcissa swung her hips lasciviously as she made her way between the guests, a tray of drinks and "nibbles" in her hand. This was going to be a good one.  
  
  
"Whats this Narcissa?" boomed Portiana Parkinson's deep voice from a corner. "All dressed up I see! Expecting someone special?"  
  
  
Narcissa smiled and looked down at the red velvet corset she wore under her open negligee. The corset was trimmed with black satin ribbons and laces, and a tiny pair of red velvet knickers to match. A black satin suspender belt and black lace stockings completed the look, while her three inch black stilletto heels gave an endearing wobble to her walk.   
  
  
"It is my birthday" she beamed at Portiana, who snorted in reply.  
  
  
"Yes, Narcissa, but WHO is your present? Eh?" she nudged Gertrude Bulstrode in the arm so roughly that Gertrude choked on a peanut.  
  
  
"Very nice" she squeaked.  
  
  
Narcissa regarded her two friends - if she could call them that - with a slight sense of pity. They had known each other from schooldays, and she had always been "the pretty one".   
  
  
Gertrude Bulstrode was thin and ugly. Her greying brown hair was cut close to her head like a boy's, emphasising her large jutting jaw, which was just like her daughter's. She seemed to have absolutely no feminine shape to her at all - no bust or hips - just straight up and down. She was wearing a set of ugly, frilled mauve robes which made her look even more sallow than usual. He nose was tiny and piggish and she had a pair of beady little blue eyes which roamed constantly over everyone and everything.  
  
  
Portiana Parkinson, on the other hand, was huge. Her backside would have filled an entire sofa. Her enormous bosom was struggling to be contained within the frilled neckline of her scarlet silk robes. Her highly coloured face was as puggish as her daughter's and her thin blond hair was scraped into a bizarre knot on the top of her head. She was smoking a large cigar.  
  
  
Narcissa smiled beatifically at them both.  
  
  
"Severus Snape" she said, with an air of smugness.  
  
  
Gertrude choked on another peanut. Portiana coughed, expelling a cloud of cigar smoke.  
  
  
"Severus the Priest?" she laughed, derisively. "I wouldn't have thought he knew what to do with it. I suppose he is rather appealing though, if you like dark and sardonic that is . . ." she winked at Narcissa.  
  
  
Narcissa tossed back her long blonde hair, which for tonight was allowed to swing loose.  
  
  
"Well" she lowered her voice conspiratorially. "You know what they say - it is the quiet ones you have to watch out for. And I can tell you now, my dears, that Severus Snape - despite his outward appearance, hides great talents under those black robes".  
  
  
Portiana snorted into her wine.  
  
  
Narcissa looked up and her and smiled. "Between you and me, ladies," she went on in a low voice, "I'll have you know that he's hung like a bloody great Belgian Cart Horse. And he most definitely DOES know what to do with it! An encounter with him will leave you walking bow-legged for weeks. And lets face it my dears, a lady does need some of that occasionally doesn't she now? I mean, much as I adore my dear Lucius, his 'endowment' has always been somewhat on the meagre side. . . "  
  
  
"Yes, well thats the Malfoys through and through" Portiana drained her wine glass, gave a hearty burp and reached for her cigar. "Big mouths and small tools. I could have warned you about that Narcissa, dear . . Of course, could never have married a Malfoy myself you know. Takes more than a couple of inches to satisfy old Portia . . !"  
  
  
She gave a raucous bark of laughter and the small group around them dissolved into amused titters. All except Narcissa, who gave a rather forced smile.  
  
  
"Well, I mustn't keep my guest waiting" she said sweetly, drawing her neglige around her. "Enjoy yourselves as best as you can my dears, won't you . ."  
  
  
And smirking to herself, she left.  
  
  
* * *   
  
  
Snape apparated a hundred yards or so from the house, timing his arrival perfectly to arrive under cover of a large old oak tree, the branches of which were still bare as midwinter, rustling eerily in the chill night wind. He glanced quickly around him, to make sure that he had not been glimpsed by any unsuspecting Muggles, and would not need to perform any hasty memory charms, and satisfied that he was unobserved, made his way towards the house.   
  
  
He paused before the huge and ancient carved front doors, which were positively vibrating with the music and laughter behind them. Then raised his hand and tapped the large brass knocker (in the shape of an enormous serpent, with rubies for eyes) once. Its sound, magically maginified, rang throughout the house and within the minutes the doors were flung open.  
  
  
Lucius Malfoy stood there, looking rather more than slightly the worse for wear. His dark blue silk robes were pulled askew, and stained with what was either sweat or spilled drink, and what looked suspiciously like drops of blood. (That, of course, thought Severus bitterly, would be entirely normal at one of the Malfoys' perverted little orgies). Lucius' face was sweaty and flushed from drink and exertion, his hair decidely ruffled. The black bow tie he wore at the neck of his crisp white dress shirt was hanging loose. He held an expensive-looking goblet of red wine in one hand and a fat cigar in the other.  
  
  
"Severus, old boy!" he roared, jovially, his mouth twisting into a lop-sided grin. "Great to see you! Thought you weren't going to make it for a while. Narcissa would have been so disappointed you know . . ."  
  
  
Snape merely forced a smile. He looked quickly down at his own clothes, which comprised of superbly tailored and pressed black trousers and a white dress shirt with neat ruffles at collar and cuffs. Over the shirt he wore a rich wine coloured, silk waistcoat and cravat at his neck, the latter fastened with a gleaming emerald-set gold pin. He brushed a few specks from his heavy black cloak, which was lined with a rich wine velvet to match his waistcoat, and picked a piece of lint from his black gloves. His hair was tied back neatly at the nape of his neck, giving him an air of impeccable neatness.  
  
  
Lucius regarded him with amusement. "Yes you look spiffing old man!" he laughed, gesturing Severus to come inside. "Don't worry, Narcissa's totally out of her dear little box by now - she's been at the 1989 vintage since five o'clock, and snorting that Muggle stuff Portiana brought. She wouldn't notice if you were wearing a dustbin-liner. Not that you'll have it on for long, anyway!"  
  
  
He shut the door and gave Snape a suggestive smile which made the recipient's stomach turn.   
  
  
"She's upstairs." continued Malfoy, eyeing his guest's obvious discomfort with some enjoyment. "Better not keep her waiting too long. Come and have a snifter with us afterwards."  
  
  
He rolled unsteadily away down the corridor shouting "Is it hot yet, Marjorie? Don't let it melt . . ."  
  
  
Severus gave an almost imperceptible shudder and composed himself quickly, before making his way up the grand staircase to the rooms above.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
She lounged on the bed, clad in a ridiculous corset affair that was meant for a woman with far more ample charms than she possessed in her skinny frame. A large glass of wine was in her hand and an attempt at a seductive grin was on her face. Severus wanted to slap her.  
  
  
"My dear Professor Snape" she drawled, extending a bejewelled hand towards him imperiously. "You've kept me waiting all evening. And on my birthday as well!" She flashed a coquettish glance of mock resentment at him.  
  
  
Snape knelt beside the large four-poster bed on which she sprawled. He took her hand and kissed it.  
  
  
"My apologies, Narcissa" he said, in his silkiest tone. "I was detained at school. The life of a teacher is never easy and not ordered to accomodate pleasure, I'm afraid."   
  
  
Narcissa arched back on the bed, grasping her small breasts and laughed drunkenly. "Oh you make me soooo wet when you speak in the imperious tone!" she slurred, flicking her long blonde   
hair over one eye. "Come on, let me get you out of those perfect clothes and mess you up just a little bit, dear 'Professor' Severus!"  
  
  
Snape swallowed, before rising slowly.   
  
  
She was loathsome to him. They all were, this repulsive band of cackling, inbred hags who frequented the Malfoys' deranged little "parties". Without charm or allure of any kind in his eyes, their hearts as black and empty as their painted faces. Getting, and maintaining, an erection for any of them was one of the most difficult things he had ever had to do, although a few sips of a special potion designed to help on such "trying" occasions enabled him to perform his task adequately, even if his mind was entirely detached from what his body was doing, thinking of others, of happier times, of dreams and hopes that he had long buried.  
  
  
Narcissa pulled him onto the bed, straddled him and clasped his wrists. She reached onto the ornate beside table and retrieved a set of rusty and complicated looking manacles.  
  
  
"Part one of my birthday present" she purred sweetly as she clamped the manacle around his wrist. "You will be part two, darling. And I know you won't leave Narcissa disappointed!"  
  
  
No, he never did. He worked so hard at satisifyng every person and every obligation in his life. He had entirely forgotten how it felt to be satisifed himself.  
  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
  
Hermione was sitting beside the Fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, reading. For the umpteenth time in her life her chosen book was "Jane Eyre". She had always adored the tale of the shy, plain young governess, who owned nothing but her mind and her strength of character; and the dark, dangerous, sardonic and powerfully sexual older man with a disturbing secret past. She could think of no tale which stirred her heart, or, if truth be told, her libido.  
  
  
She felt incredibly lonely. Her last year at school was nothing like she had imagined it to be. So many other girls were planning engagement parties, travels, and other exciting future adventures once they were "free" from study, but what had Hermione ever known, or ever valued, other than study and the cultivation of her mind? Romantic relationships had been few and short-lasting, she was still a virgin at 18. What did her future hold other than more work, more study, some worthwhile job at the Ministry of Magic, using her "extraordinary" intellect for the good of others, while girl like Parvati and Lavender laughed and danced and travelled the world in the arms of handsome, exciting young men. Hermione saw herself very much like Jane Eyre. Plain, intelligent and with a head full of dreams that she could tell no-one.  
  
  
Except that there was no Mr Rochester to make them come true for *her*.  
  
  
She was startled out of her reverie by a soft tapping on the door of the Common Room. It opened slightly and in stepped Minerva McGonagall, clad in tartan dressing gown, slippers and a nightcap. She held a candle in her hand.  
  
  
"Oh you are still awake my dear" she said, her soft Scottish accent breaking the silence in the room. "I'm so glad. I had hoped to find you earlier, but I've been so busy - those exam papers simply don't mark themselves, you know, and then we had an "incident" with some first years and an engorgement charm" she smiled and sat in the empty armchair opposite Hermione. "I just thought I'd pop my head in and see if you were still up. Whats that you're reading dear? "Jane Eyre"? Why I read that myself, in my girlhood! Wonderful tale, isn't it?"  
  
  
Hermione, feeling slightly dazed, put down her book and focussed her attention on her Professor  
  
  
"I've always loved it" she said, searching the older witch's face for a clue of what might have brought her to the Gryffindor Common Room. "Is there anything wrong Professor?"  
  
  
Professor McGonagall shook her head.  
  
  
"Oh no, no, not at all, dear" she said. "You've been doing so well this year, I'm expecting you to get nothing but "A"'s in your N.E.W.T.S." She smiled, maternally. "You've always been such a clever girl, always put so much work into your studies . . .which is why I'm here, really."  
  
  
Hermione frowned, wondering what was coming next.  
  
  
Professor McGonagall regarded her in silence for a moment.   
  
  
"I was wondering", she said at last "What your plans were after your exams are finished. What you hope to go onto, I mean, when you leave Hogwarts this summer. In the Muggle world, a bright young woman such as yourself would be going onto University, I know."  
  
  
Hermione felt a strange sense of bitterness at the words. Of course, she would be expected to go onto University, the bookworm, the girl who spent her evenings in the library, while others experimented with makeup and planned romantic liasons. She wouldn't be expected to become a model or an actress, get married, or be swept away on a round-the-world-cruise by a handsome millionaire, as was rumoured to be happening to Parvati's gorgeous sister Padma. No, Hermione was a scholar to the end.  
  
  
She sighed and shifted uncomfortably under her teacher's gaze.  
  
  
"To be honest" she said at last "I had quite expected to take a year out. I had thought of applying to one of the Muggle Universities, but somehow . . .  
  
  
"It would be too hard to return to Muggle living after your time here" Professor McGonagall finished for her. Hermione felt quite startled- it was as though the Professor had read her mind.  
  
  
She nodded slowly. "Exactly." she agreed ruefully. "Although not as though I'm not proud of my Muggle heritage, Professor" she added quickly, anxious to leave no-one in any doubt on that point, "But I've become so used to the Wizarding way of life - the old dreams of becoming a dentist like my mother and father - that I used to harbour as a child - seem positively ridiculous now . . ."  
  
  
Professor McGonagall was regarding her with a sagely expression.  
  
  
"I know my dear" she said, tenderly. "which is why I'm here really, you see, Albus - that is Professor Dumbledore - and I have been chatting recently about you Seventh years and what you're all going to be doing. And we started to think of which of you might be interested in becoming student teachers . . ."  
  
  
Hermione gave a small gasp. She had been thinking about this very subject herself only recently - wondering how on earth anybody actually qualified to be a teacher in the Wizarding world as there were no Universities. She had often wondered about teaching as a possible profession, given her love of learning, and her ability to pass her knowledge onto others. She was frequently called upon by fellow Gryffindors for homework help, and she often found herself pondering the ways in which she felt her teachers could improve their lessons - in particular a certain Potions Master, who had made a fascinating subject little more than a weekly trial for the majority of Hogwarts' students. She wondered how she would fare in such a position, and what things she would do differently.  
  
  
"I have to say thats something I'd be really interested in, Professor!" she said, with no little enthusiam, then, checking herself before she appeared too presumptuous; "that is . . if I were one of the students you had in mind . . ."  
  
  
"Oh my dear girl!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall, leaning forward to take one of Hermione's hands, "You were the first name we thought of! You've no idea how impressed all of the staff are with the work you've produced during your time here. You have a rare ability for magic and certainly have the makings of a very talented young witch indeed. We only wondered whether remaining within these walls might be too lowly an aspiration for a brilliant young mind such as yours, whether you might not prefer to spread your wings and fly to pastures new and exciting, rather than stay cooped up here with a cluster of old duffers such as ourselves . . ."  
  
  
She gave a self-depreciating smile and Hermione resisted the urge to hug her. The teachers at Hogwarts, (with, perhaps, one notable, sour-faced exception) had been her greatest mentors, and Minerva McGonagall in particular, was one of Hermione's prime role-models. They were anything but "old duffers" in her eyes and to work alongside them would be nothing short of a privilege.  
  
  
"I can think of no finer way to exercise my - in your words - 'brilliant young mind!" She said joyfully, savouring the look of satisfaction on her Professor's face at her words. "It would be an honour to work alongside all of you, and to take a part in education the next generation of young wizards and witches."  
  
  
Professor McGonagall gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.   
  
  
"Well thats settled then!" she said, and there was great tenderness in her softly accented words. "Come and see me tommorrow morning after breakfast. I am to submit my list of students who are to stay on at Hogwarts for teacher training to the Ministry by the end of next week. There is a fair amount of parchment-work to be completed of course, but you will be in receipt of an handsome Ministry grant to aid you in your studies, also there will be the opportunity of teaching overseas, should you wish to take it up."   
  
  
She stood up, hesitated, and then enveloped Hermione in a quick hug.  
  
  
"We're all so looking forward to having you here, my dear" she smiled, and Hermione had to choke back tears at the knowledge that she was so valued by those she admired. "Now, best get off to bed - the exams are drawing ever nearer and you need your sleep. And I can trust you to be sensible enough not to sit up enjoying yourself every night, only to find yourself completely unprepared the day before the first of your N.E.W.T.S!"  
  
  
The remark was intended as a compliment, but Hermione's smile was forced.   
  
  
* * * * * 


End file.
